


Neighbors

by AvaRosier



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-05
Updated: 2014-11-05
Packaged: 2018-02-24 04:19:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2567966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvaRosier/pseuds/AvaRosier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nathan Miller isn’t exactly the neighborly sort. Really. He much prefers to limit his interactions with the other building residents to a casual nod of the head and maybe on a good day, a muttered “hey.” But the blonde in 319? Miller knows way too much about her, and worst of all? He doesn’t think she cares. Which has him spending more time thinking about her than he fucking should.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Neighbors

Nathan Miller isn’t exactly the neighborly sort. Really. He much prefers to limit his interactions with the other building residents to a casual nod of the head and maybe on a good day, a muttered “ _hey_.”

 But the blonde in 319? Miller knows way too much about her, and worst of all? He doesn’t think she _cares_. Which has him spending more time thinking about her than he fucking should.

She had already been living next door when he moved in to 317 and two days later she’d knocked on his door, holding up a plate piled high with brownies.

  _Brownies._

“Hi, I’m Clarke!” She’d announced brightly. “I thought I’d welcome you to the building. I made these with Kahlua.”

  _Kahlua Brownies_.

“Nathan, but everyone calls me Miller. And thanks.” He’d said, smiling politely. Well, he hadn’t been about to turn down fresh baked goods. And damn if those hadn’t been the best brownies he’d ever had.

He had washed and returned her plate a week later with a sticky note complimenting her baking skills.  And that had been the last they’d interacted for a month. Miller was busy at his first job at an architecture firm and he wasn’t one for throwing parties. Bellamy occasionally came over for a COD marathon and neither one of them were particularly loud when they bitched each other out, so he never had Clarke complaining.

The only thing he ever heard through the walls was that one Led Zeppelin song she liked to play loudly on repeat every so often. Also, there was the inhumanely loud alarm clock she used to make sure there was no possible way she would go back to sleep and miss her classes. Miller liked jack-knifing awake in his bed at 6:30 a.m. anyways.

He liked the building— $600 a month for a two-bedroom, a decent kitchen for him to cook in, and best of all, a balcony with sliding doors. Said balcony barely fit a lawn chair out there but it was something. The landlord, Wick, was good at fixing up things and keeping the electrics up to scratch. If Miller had to complain about anything, it would be the laundry room, which only had three washers and three dryers.

Miller was a creature of habit, and he liked to do his laundry on Tuesday evenings. You’d think it’d be the least popular night but no. Twice in the space of one month, he’d bring his hamper down and two of the machines would be going but the third would be long since completed and someone’s very female clothes would be sitting there, all dry and wasting his precious laundry time.

So, Miller started scooping the clothes out and placing them (politely) on top of the table. He refused to stare at the pretty bras and panties and speculate. The third night he had to do this, the door to the laundry room banged open as Clarke came barreling inside. She was obviously distracted.

“Oh, Miller! How’ve you been? I have a nasty Biochem test in two days that I’m cramming for and I can barely remember what else I have going on—like laundry, which I see you found…sorry!” She was practically out of breath by the end of that spiel, and Miller just sat there dumbfounded.

 

One: she’s scooping up those bras and panties into her hamper because, of course,  _they_  belong to _her_.

Two: she’s wearing a black tee and a pair of gray sweatpants, has her hair piled up in a messy ponytail, and she’s wearing these big black glasses.

 

A combination of those two factors had blood rushing south of the border, and wasn’t that the most awkward thing ever? Despite being annoyed by her absent-mindedness, Miller just shrugged it off. “It’s nothing. You’d think with thirty-eight people in this building, they’d have more on-site machines.”

That had gotten a laugh of agreement out of Clarke and she’d done that adorable thing where she pushed her glasses back up her nose. And just like that, he was a goner.

To clarify: Miller had no intentions of going there. They were neighbors, and hooking up with your neighbor was a recipe for disaster. Also, just because he found her attractive didn’t mean they would actually suit each other. So, he tried not to think about Clarke when he was indulging in some stress relief.

 _Tried_ , being the key word here.

It was still warm in early October and he preferred to sleep with his windows open to let in the crisp night breeze. One night, he was still awake late enough to realize Clarke was doing the same. It had to be just after midnight when he heard the first moan.

His eyes flew open and he listened intently in the sudden silence, almost not daring to breathe. The sound came again, and there was no mistaking the tone of pleasure or the breathy sound of it. Miller just lay there for the five minutes it took for Clarke to expediently get herself off, cursing the entire time.

_Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck._

If Clarke was loud, Miller was quiet. He gave in and reached inside his sweats, barely lasting a minute before he was shooting into the palm of his hand. He just couldn’t shake Clarke Griffin’s influence on his imagination. And it was getting to the point he didn’t want to.

All the same, he kind of ducked his head every time he passed her in the hallway. He wasn’t going to be a creep about this.

Two months later, he got a knock on his door. And to his surprise when he swung it open, it was Clarke…cuddling none other than his pet bearded dragon, Grendel. Whose breakout was news to Miller.

He groaned apologetically.

“Shit, I didn’t even notice he’d gotten out. Thanks for bringing him back.” That was when he noticed it. Grendel was a grumpy and antisocial creature most of the time: more prone to nipping at you if you tried to pet him. Which suited Miller just fine.

Except now? He was perfectly content to be cuddled against Clarke’s breasts, the conniving bastard.

So Miller took his erstwhile pet back from Clarke, who hadn’t seemed to mind the animal. The second he closed the door after exchanging goodbyes, Grendel bit his hand.

It was just another thing on his growing list of reasons why he was so fucked.

His bosses handed him an important account, which kept him busy throughout the holiday season, although he managed to fly out to Pittsburgh to have Thanksgiving with his mom, dad, and little brother. He stayed in town over Christmas, though, thanks to the weather grounding most flights out of the east coast.

Wick threw a holiday party in his apartment for the residents who were stuck there. Miller was bored enough to attend, figuring he could score some free mulled wine and maybe be entertained by some of the more interesting residents. Raven from 112 was an engineering student and she always did mind-blowing stuff with a beer bottle and a fork, or something. Also, Jasper, who lived in 220 might blow something up, if Miller was lucky.

Okay, so he was kind of hoping Clarke would be there.

She was.

“Hey, Nathan.” She said by way of greeting, giving him a conspiratorial wink. “Stay out of the egg nog—Monty spiked it with something ninety-proof I’m pretty sure he brewed himself.”

She had a devious little smile tugging on her lips and Miller showed her his best poker face, barely raising one eyebrow. “I’ll steer clear. What’s with the first name all of the sudden?”

Clarke shrugged casually and glanced meaningfully at a spot above his head. Miller followed her line of sight and—

“Mistletoe.”  _There is a God_.  _And he’s having a nice laugh at your expense._

“Yep, I figured we should at least be on a first name basis for this part.” And then Clarke was setting her drink down on a nearby table and stepping closer to him, her warm breath tickling the underside of his jaw. The look in her blue eyes was blatantly challenging.

“Yes ma’am.” He muttered. She smelled like cinnamon and sugar.

And just like that, Miller forgot his lengthy list of reasons why he should not get together with Clarke Griffin.  _What the lady wants_ , he thought faintly as he set his own red solo cup down next to hers and slid one hand around her back, caressing the soft white material of her sweater. The other he tangled in her hair as her arms wound around his neck and her lips pressed against his own.

He’s had worse ideas.


End file.
